And the Sea Is Never Full (30 page)

I say: “You could have advanced your attack by one day, by a few
hours. You could have saved a great many prisoners, Jews and Russians.” He explains: “It wasn’t easy. There were logistical problems, strategic considerations. And then, I had to get the order from the Stavka, the High Command….”

And suddenly, as we chat, the general and I, as we exchange stories about courage and despair, an idea flashes through my mind: We must bring together the other liberators of camps—to listen to them, to thank them, and to ask for their support. Our testimony has been questioned, even refuted by Nazis and moral perverts. The voice of the liberators would make them hold their tongues. That was the genesis, in my mind, of the Liberators’ Conference that was to convene in Washington in 1981.

In the plane that takes us from Moscow to Copenhagen, where we go to express our gratitude to the Danish people for having demonstrated to the world that it was possible to save Jews, my Elisha, who until then had never complained about being hauled around the world, exclaims: “That’s enough! I’m resigning from the commission!”

From Europe, that commission continues to pursue its fact-finding mission in Israel, the place where memory has been preserved better than anywhere else. We have endless meetings with the directors of Yad Vashem, Israel’s Holocaust museum. How can we put their concerns to rest? They are worried that the museum project we are planning will relegate theirs to second place. I believe they are wrong. Yad Vashem will remain the essential site of remembrance. It deserves absolute priority.

In the report we are about to submit to the president, we are proposing the creation of a museum. Such is the wish of most members of the commission. They feel that having entered into the era of the audiovisual, books alone no longer suffice. My position is that we Jews have never assigned much importance to museums. How are we going to “show” the Tragedy, when it is almost impossible even to speak of it? Could images be more eloquent, more effective? And what images? Those taken by the enemy? In the end I go along with the concept of a “living museum,” as long as the accent is on “living.” Now that the concept has been accepted by the commission, there remains the matter of drafting the report to the president.

With the exception of my introduction, it is written by an aide to the director. Unfortunately, it is badly written. In the end, our friend Lily Edelman undertakes a rewrite. It takes her a full three days.

Another ceremony: We deliver the report to the president in the Rose Garden in the presence of many dignitaries and congressmen. The president seems satisfied. We have proposed that a new organization be created to succeed the commission. The proposal has been accepted. What shall it be called? Just as they had for the commission, the White House suggests a name as long as a stifling summer day without water. Once again I invoke my authority to shorten it. It will be inscribed in various legal documents as the United States Holocaust Memorial Council, or just the Council. I summarize its purpose in a sentence to be engraved on the museum wall: “For the dead
and
the living, we must bear witness.”

Words of Remembrance

W
HEN
P
RESIDENT
C
ARTER
appoints me to head the newly created Holocaust Memorial Council, I foresee the difficulties awaiting us. By now I am no longer a novice. My most urgent task is to establish a list—once more. It seems as though one does nothing else in Washington. I ask Arthur Goldberg to stay on with me. He declines; he does not believe in the museum: “You’ll see, it will be created at the expense of Jewish remembrance.” He feels that it would be better not to embark on a project that he thinks can only end in compromise. “I am your friend,” he tells me. “I know Washington. This is not for us.” I beg him to change his mind, to trust me, without success. I am deeply sorry.

Still, there is no shortage of candidates. As during the establishment of the President’s Holocaust Commission, we must take into account the religious and geographical considerations that influence all decisions on the federal level. But even that is not enough, and the White House calls us to account. It seems we have forgotten a factor that politically weighs more heavily than the others—the ethnic factor. After all, we are on the eve of an electoral campaign.

We have the first alerts, the first disagreements. The Council membership list evidently displeases the White House; “too many Jews,” the President is rumored to have said. His adviser Stu Eizenstat exerts pressure on us along those lines. The new Council director, the eminent law professor and civil rights activist Monroe Freedman, acts as our liaison to the administration. A distinguished-looking man who has returned to traditional Judaism thanks to his wife, Audrey, a convert, Freedman impresses people with his graciousness and precision of thought. Unlike many others, he is not in awe of Washington or power, and his integrity prevents him from getting involved in political maneuvers. He expresses a pessimism that events eventually confirm.
Example: We are asked politely but insistently to accept a Pole, that is, a non-Jewish American of Polish origin. His connection to the Tragedy? None. He is to represent the Polish nation, which, undeniably, has suffered as well.

So my friend Arthur had been right. I call an urgent meeting with my close collaborators and ask for their advice: Should we resist the pressures? For Frank Lautenberg, industrialist and future senator from New Jersey, compromise is unavoidable; he thinks that a rejection would signify the end of the project, the end of the memorial. “Sometimes,” he says, “if it is for a just cause, one may sell one’s soul to the devil.” Siggi Wilzig, a Jew from Berlin and a survivor of Auschwitz, flies into a rage and—fortunately—puts him in his place. In Miles Lerman’s view, if it were a Ukrainian he would say no, but a Pole, that’s something else, less serious. How is it less serious? The discussion leads nowhere. As for me, had the White House asked us to nominate a Pole who had been a deportee or had fought in the resistance, I would have said yes without hesitation; but I am opposed to the political argument that imposes on us the representative of one ethnic group or another. If we went along, tomorrow we could be pressured to accept a representative of any minority, be it Ukrainian, Lithuanian, Hungarian, or even German. More discussions follow, all just as sterile. Pressures from my fellow survivors weigh on my judgment. Finally, a majority favoring compromise takes shape. We shall have to trust the White House; after all, a council with minor political motivation is better than no council. And of course we can always resign later. I report the situation to Arthur. Predictably, he says: “I knew it; this is only the beginning. You can’t win with these people.” His predictions came true: After the Pole, a Ukrainian was recommended—I mean imposed on us—then a Hungarian, then a Lithuanian … all perfectly honorable men, worthy of our trust, but we have become part of the machine.

My displeasure is no secret. Neither is the administration’s. As a result, our relations with the White House deteriorate. As everywhere in a bureaucracy, there is no end to the intrigues. Cliques form and there is an attempt to pit me against some official or other; I no longer recall whom. Eizenstat is annoyed, and I am disappointed. It becomes more and more difficult to make decisions, even important ones. To be sure, Congress offers us unconditional support, but since Congress is dependent on the executive branch, for all practical purposes it is impossible to function.

The first internal crisis breaks out: Monroe Freedman feels compelled to dismiss his deputy. The latter, taking advantage of the fact that I was out of the country, allegedly engineered the hiring of a candidate with a questionable past. Monroe derailed the maneuver immediately. But because the deputy falsely informed the White House that I had approved the candidate, the administration concluded that I had gone back on my word—and was furious.

As a consequence of our tense relations with the White House, it becomes impossible to get the president to attend the second annual Day of Remembrance, and so it does not take place. Monroe and I exchange bitter letters with Eizenstat. We feel that he is politicizing the Council, and that our not having a ceremony that year is his fault.

The second conflict: One of our Council members is an American of Armenian origin; Set Momjian is among my closest collaborators. He is helping us commemorate the tragedy endured by his people during World War I. This, of course, angers the Turkish government, which threatens to revise its policy toward the United States and NATO. So here I am, to my great chagrin, mixed up in international politics. What a joke: If NATO falls apart, will it be our fault? But that’s Washington; there is no way to escape politics or comedy. Personally, I am pleased that an Armenian has a seat on the Council. I would be even more pleased if a Gypsy were there too.

But the business of nominations is not finished. Just as for the presidential commission, people are soliciting appointments from senators and congressmen who, in turn, exert pressure on us. Notables of both parties intervene. To be a Democrat is an advantage, to be a millionaire a trump card. Political connections are more important than personal merit. My proposals are rarely accepted. My points of view and those of the administration are too divergent. In the end, the Council will have sixty-five members, ten congressmen among them.

Eizenstat attends the inaugural session, which is less moving, less “historic,” than that of the Commission a year earlier. Our friend in Congress, John Brademas from Michigan, the Democratic whip of the House, administers the oath. My speech does not deal gently with the administration. I aim at members of Eizenstat’s staff without naming them; I make it clear that I find their manipulations deplorable. Colleagues try to calm me: They tell me that once the mechanism is in place, everything will be all right. I am not convinced.

So far, little is settled. For the moment, the White House has other worries, what with the hostage crisis in Teheran and the failure
of the military action to free them. In Madrid for a conference, I am with Henry Kissinger as we witness the live broadcast of Jimmy Carter’s melancholy speech. He is clearly devastated, which is understandable: All those helicopters unable to take off, all those helpless military men. And those Iranian “students” tormenting their American prisoners, all the while mocking America. How can the Democrats hope to win the presidential elections after months and months of waiting and wallowing in indecision?

Was it true that at the start of the crisis an Israeli emissary had been dispatched to Washington to offer the president the good services of the Israeli army and the Mossad? Was it true that Israel, strategically well placed, had been ready to undertake a rescue operation in Teheran? And that Carter had refused? A thousand rumors are circulating in “well-informed” quarters. All, of course, quite unconfirmable.

If Carter had said yes he might well have been reelected. And so many things might have taken a different course.

The arrival of President Ronald Reagan brings about a change in our relations with the White House. During a visit to Los Angeles, I meet with Ted Cummings, adviser to the new president on Jewish affairs and future ambassador to Austria, who tells me in no uncertain terms that the composition of the Council will have to be altered. He suggests a collective resignation in order to reconstitute the Council on a new political foundation. “You must admit,” he says, “that not one member of the present Council is Republican!” He is right. And I am the only independent. “It is only fair,” Cummings continues, “for the Republican party to be represented.” Eventually he proposes a compromise—a partial resignation of the Council. I oppose it: “You can have my resignation right now. As for the others, you must handle that yourself.”

Legally, the administration cannot divest us of our functions before our term expires. In practice, though, it is inconceivable that anyone would stay on against the president’s wishes. That is the tradition: Every president must have the privilege of naming his collaborators and representatives on every level of the administration down to the most insignificant, such as ours. But I am stubborn: If the Council is touched, I’ll leave. It will not be touched, but in the upper echelons of the White House a resentment of me will linger for some time. From that moment on, Monroe Freedman’s counterpart will no longer be a high official but a subordinate.

Many of us feel that we are progressing too slowly. At the session of December 10, 1980, I express my position: